Tag Archives: dating

Listen. So after last week’s post wherein I slyly revealed that I’m seeing someone (remember, Jim and Pam), I had a discussion with this young man with whom I am frequenting local food establishments and movie theaters (we also have dates at the mall…it’s like, so 9th grade). Apparently my definition of “single” and his definition of “single” are not really the same. So we had a chit chat about it, and I shockingly had to re-think if I was right about this one or not. That is not sarcasm. I am right about everything with very few people, one being this young man (eventually I’ll think of a cute nickname for him), so when hearing his point of view and listening to myself explain my own side, I realized, I might agree with him more than I agree with me. In other words, he might be right. Gasp! So here we are to evaluate. Feel free to commentate in the comments.

I must admit that it is a little weird being attached to someone specific after a significant period of time being without a “special” man in my life. When I moved back to Raleigh I was excited for this chapter. It would be filled with a job I liked, a wonderful roommate, and plenty of single young country boys. I’d never have admitted this, but I was thinking I’d find a special man within a year of moving here. We’d meet at a bar, or volunteering, or maybe at a young professionals meet-up, or if my mother had her way, at church (thereby checking off her single most important requirement that he be Catholic). He’d be super cute obviously, tall perhaps, of the dark and handsome variety since this seems to be the visual I gravitate towards. We’d go on some nice dates and eventually fall in love, and perhaps a year or less later we’d break up. Or maybe a couple / few years / however many years would go by and we’d become engaged and I’d plan a fantabulous wedding, and then we’d have some babies like good Catholics do and live happily ever after until we both die together like in The Notebook. Duh.

This little story has obviously not come to pass. After all, this is real life and I don’t live in a Rom-Com. Instead I found a cute boy/man at my office (and in my department no less…I mean). Pluses: he is a country boy, he is tall, he is cute (obviously…see numerous past entries about dating ugly men), and he has left tulips on my front porch. Hello, major points. Anyhoo. I don’t want to get into the gory details because they are too gory even for me and I live them. Suffice it to say, he’s great. Awesome. High five to me and to him for being great. But.

Here is where we originally disagreed. In my last post, I grouped myself with the “single girls” because I am not married or soon-to-be-married. I like him, but you guys, where’s the fire, right? And of course when comparing myself with two groups of gals, one group being engaged/married, and one group being single / casually dating / courting / whatever you want to call it, I would obviously fall into the second category. Which, for convenience and word-count sake I dubbed “being single.” Whatever. So then we went through this engineering type exercise and used nerd words like “boolean.” We both work in IT so some of our conversations are embarrassingly nerdy. I like it and then I roll my eyes and vom. Anyway. It went like this: married = not single, so therefore not single = married. This is obviously false. We are not married. We are not engaged. We are not even talking about marriage except in abstract terms (you know, comments like “If we get married I will not clean up after you” or the like). But we are/I am not single either. I don’t go out without him and troll for dudes. He doesn’t go out with his boys and pick up chicks (ahem, he better not, trust). Yes we both go out and sometimes even without each other (gasp, we are individuals!) but not trying to find Mr. or Mrs. Right. But we’re not committed to each other for the rest of our lives (yet? yikes). This doesn’t really make us available, but we’re not married. So we’re single? Eh, not really. But yeah, we are.

Um, ok. That’s kind of how the conversation went. I kept saying, “but we’re not married!” And he’d calmly and logically (ugh, logic) reply, “but you’re not trying to get with other guys, right?” To which I obviously reply, “um yeah, sorry to break it to you.” JK ya’ll. Of course I said no. I ain’t no cheater. But we were both honest at the end of the conversation and agreed, we’re not committed for life and therefore nothing is final. He may think I am the sweetest thing since French Toast, and I may be charmed by his country-boy accent and adorable dimple (ugh I am grossing myself out), but if one or both of us encounters someone else or discovers we’re just not that into each other, it will not take one year plus attorney fees to make that happen.

So in conclusion. I’m not single and neither is he. But I simply don’t think that being in a relationship or dating someone specific means you are completely and 100% taken forever. Yes, we will be exclusively “together” until such time as we aren’t. Or until we get married, at which point we will be exclusively together forever (optimism alert!). So maybe there should be three categories instead of just two: married/engaged, dating, single. That’s fair.

It is so hard for me to say I’m wrong, so I’m not going to say it. It was simply a terminology disagreement and neither of us were right or wrong. But no, I’m not single. Fine.

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Last weekend I had an epically long convo with Miz Foxy-fox on my odyssey from DC back to Raleigh. [Side note: embarking on a 5 hour car drive on a Sunday night around 9pm after an entire weekend of little to no sleep is not wise.] We, shockingly, had a long discussion about boys. I know, it’s like, we just never talk about boys so I thought, like, it was about time.

She was telling me about her awesomely fun weekend during which she met a super cute boy. Only he was not really that cute, only sort of cute and he was also sort of chubby but not really fat but just not really the Fox’s taste. But his eyes, she assured me, his eyes were just really brown and great. Plus he’s hilarious and has a great personality and they really bonded. It’s just that he’s sort of chubby and she really isn’t attracted to him, but she insists that he’s still sort of cute but not really. So now of course she feels shallow. I laugh and remind her how many men I have snubbed and/or ignored and/or to whom I have confirmed “friend-zone only zone” in the past (not to make it sound like I get hit on 24/7, but you know). We remind each other of the phrase, “life’s too short to date ugly men,” and immediately feel better about ourselves.

But then we continue down this vein and really start to dissect what it means to be shallow and what, if anything, this shallowness indicates about us and our character as nice young ladies. I insist that a physical attraction is 100% necessary in order to have a legit, deep, successful, long-term, whatever relationship. When have you ever heard a groom-to-be say something like, “well I love my fiance because she’s just a great cook and she can crack a joke like no other, but she really doesn’t do it for me physically.” Um. If you have heard something like this, then that marriage is obviously doomed. I have always said, since always, that the man I end up with should and will think that I am the hottest piece of tush (I promised Ma I wouldn’t curse as much) on the planet. And I would also like to have a man whom I think is just mondo attractive. I will see other attractive men and think, eh, mine is better. And it will be because I am attracted to his physical handsomeness as well as his personality and all of that. Everyone knows a person’s personality makes them more attractive so I won’t remind us of this. But seriously. Even my mother still remarks about what a great tush my father has. I cover my ears and sing really loudly to avoid hearing things like this, but is it NOT the cutest thing ever that after however many numerous years of marriage, she still thinks he’s the bees knees. Presh!

So what does it mean when we meet someone and they are just PERFECT aside from the fact that maybe you think that really they’re just not that good looking. It’s not an objective evaluation, it’s your subjective opinion and you just can’t get past it. “It comes with time,” is one theory I’ve heard. To me this is sort of BS. I don’t want to be with someone who is, like, “working on” thinking that I’m attractive. I either do it for you or I don’t. Perhaps I become more attractive to you once you learn all of my quirks and things. But the initial attraction must already be present. “They can lose weight – it’s so superficial.” Sure. If you meet someone and you don’t like the way their body is shaped – too short, too tall, too skinny, too fat – there are things that can be done to combat this. IE wearing heels, or eating more, eating less, working out, whatever. But as my mother always says you can’t meet someone and then immediately resolve to “fix” them.

Maybe it means that we’re just very immature little girls. “I don’t want to be seen with you because you’re ugly” sure wreaks of a Mean Girls-esque attitude, which as everyone knows is SO junior year. Can we help this? Not really. This is what Le Fox and I ended up deciding and then immediately felt like 12-year-olds. Or at least I did. It sort of makes sense that it’s a sign of immaturity that I / we / any lady would prefer to not be with someone because he’s just not attractive. Again, it’s all subjective, and I can’t help what I like. So I think that makes me shallow, but not necessarily immature. But regardless, this super awesome guy that El Foxo met last weekend probably will eventually find a girl who thinks he is the most adorable thing since baby chicks. But it won’t be Foxy. And I saw his picture and I’ll admit, it won’t be me either.

So for realz. Life is too short to date ugly men, but the reality is, life is too short to date or waste time with someone to whom you are not attracted. If you have some other kind of awesome connection, that means you could be fantastic friends. I have at least a few close friends who are dudes who are perfectly attractive, handsome, or otherwise cutie-patooties, and at least 50% of them have insanely awesome six packs (high on my list of must-haves). Yet I have never dated any of them. There are obviously other factors at play here, but the point is we all are not to each others’ taste and that’s alright. If I am unmarried in 20 years, I already have a contract with one said friend to be married. What a deal. In the mean time, I will stick to what I like and continue searching for my Vin Diesel. Jesse Eisenbergs need not apply.

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It has been a hot sec since I talked about boys. I know! It’s like I don’t even care about boys anymore. LOL good one. This is obvs not true, but really I’ve just been busy being busy and have had no time to chat about trife boy stuff aside from my Valentine’s Day diatribe, which wasn’t so much about boys as it was about dating. Anyhoozies. I am bringing boys back to this blog, and much like how Justin brought sexy back, it’s kind of like they never left.

Did you know that Raleigh-Durham is the number 5 city / metropolitan area for young singles? I know, right! High five to me for picking this place to establish residency again. Raleigh is also ranked as the number 4 city for dating! Um, oh my gah! Am I in the right place or what! And guess who’s already had 2 dates after being here for less than 3 weeks? This girl. That’s right. Who’s shocked? No one. And you’re shocked even less now that you have this scientific information about Raleigh. If I can’t find a date in this place, then I’m just doomed and/or need a makeover and/or need a new personality. I mean really.

So after learning this fantabulous news, I immediately am happier to be in this city and be single. There’s a light at the end of the solo tunnel, at last. But then, is it really that terrible to be single? Is it really miserable and lonely? Is it so desperately depressing to be without a one and only? And the answer, ladies and gentlemans, is no. It’s actually quite liberating. It’s freeing. I have my own schedule. I do what I want when I want to do it. But then, it wouldn’t be so terrible to go on a couple dates. Maybe have some cutie patootie that calls every so often to catch a movie, be his date to a wedding, or go to a dinner party.

But in a world where people around me are dropping like flies to the institution we call “marriage,” and other less official institutions called “serious relationships,” being a single girl is really kind of a downer. Think about it. I can think of greater than 5 instances recently in which I have been not invited to something due to the fact that, well, who will she bring with her? I can also say that I am guilty of doing this to people. In fact recently I invited Ms. Foxy to a charity event because my family had an extra ticket and she was the only person I could think of that would be available to come by herself. “Go ahead and say it,” she told me, “I’m the only one you could find who’s single.” Guilty. But then, I only had a date because my friend’s parents were also attending. So really, is no date better than a pity date?

Other times it stinks to be single: New Year’s Eve. No one in their right mind likes to be dateless or single on NYE. It is the worst. This is possibly the one night of the year where ladies get all dressed up and pretty and everyone consumes copious amounts of alcohol whilst counting down the minutes to the one moment where you all shout, smile, and then kiss your boo. What does one do who is without a boo? Smile awkwardly and drown in champagne during the moment of relative silence that follows the “Happy New Year!” while everyone is sucking face. Oh and if you’re with friends, you get a cutesy kiss on the cheek and a hug. Fun. Tell me all single girls love this and I will tell you I just gave myself a buzz cut.

Additionally, though less comical than NYE, it stinks to be single at company holiday parties. Not only do they tend to be slightly awkward (at least until more alcohol is consumed to loosen everyone up), if you work in a corporate Amurica office like mine, everyone is married and brings their spousal unit. Leaving you to huddle with the other interns or weird 50+ -year-old bachelors. Good times. I’d rather bring my mother than go alone to these things.

Wedding season also sort of stinks for single people. I think this needs no further explanation.

Anyway. I successfully digressed from the point of this post, which is that I am in the perfect city for dating and I couldn’t be more thrilled with the dating record I’ve already started. Three cheers for me. Additionally I heard a rumor that not only is Raleigh a great city for young singles and dating, but there are more young men here than young women. Extra points. AND the young men are of the “country boy” variety who are college educated and enjoying the numerous cultural experiences to be had in Raleigh. More points. It is a little known fact (LOL little known fact indeed) that country boys are my favorite kind of boy. And to clarify, I use “boy” loosely, and really actually mean “man.” It’s implied. Three cheers again. Any sad single girls out there should get thee to Raleigh asap so you can party with me and we can get coupled up on the quick with a cultured, college educated, country MAN who loves his momma and thus will treat you like a queen. Trust.

Keep on keepin on, ladies. Don’t let wedding season get you down. Get some cute shoes and own the singleness, then pick your favorite gay friend and take him to all the weddings. Your friends will be jealous of your glamorous and carefree lifestyle, and soon they will be bogged down with gross things like mortgages while you will only be burdened with things like cab fares, which shoes to wear with that cute dress, and which hot hunk of man to commandeer for your next margarita. High five to you!

If you thought maybe I left men behind after that last dating series, you were sorely mistaken. Sorry. Actually I’m not sorry because it’s fun to talk about men. They are intriguing creatures. They are predictable, they’re unpredictable, they’re mysterious. Just kidding, they’re totally not mysterious, but they are interesting. Plus ask any of your girlfriends, young or old, what they think about most often right before they go to sleep and I’d bet my new pair of awesome shoes (loves) they’ll answer men if they’re honest. Even the ones that are married, engaged, dating, texting, flirting in the office, or utterly and completely alone. They either think about one man in particular, or a couple men, or simply the idea of a man they’d like to come along someday, possibly soon. Or maybe they’re cursing men and wishing they were all burning in hell. Regardless, minds are on men. Unless you are a lesbian, you are thinking about men more than you want to admit. Let’s stop fighting the urge to deny and just come out with it, shall we? None of this, “Oh I’m thinking about my career!” Or perhaps, “I actually hate men because I’ve been screwed over so much, so I really couldn’t think about them less.” Or, “I’m living my life and don’t need a man to make me happy.” Just carefree and skipping along through green meadows with unicorns, are you? That’s called denial. But it’s cute.

Is it kind of sad that we do this? Maybe. But I really don’t think so, since I hate to think of myself as a sad person. I think it makes us normal. Because everyone knows men think about sex something gross like 98% of their waking hours, and we can only guess how much of their sleeping time they spend dreaming about sex. At least women are a little less…I can’t think of an adjective. It just seems more classy to think about sex less than they do. Not that we don’t think about sex. But my parents read this jank so we’re not discussing sex, just men (plus I of course don’t know anything about sex anyway so the point is moot). Ahem. I’ve lost my train of thought and completely digressed.

Back to the point. Remember when we had Lisa Frank folders (so hard to choose just 3!) and those hideous composition notebooks? And on the inside of them you’d write “Mrs. [your crushes name here]” all over it in the scripty cursive you were learning to use? No? I’ll share mine if you admit you did it too. In 4th grade I wanted to be Mrs. Jennings, because young Mr. Jennings kicked me under our desks all day and I just thought it was the cutest thing ever, obviously. Nevermind bruises on my skinny little shins. Wounds of love, y’all. And of course we both rode our bikes to school and his house was conveniently on the way home for me so we got to be together for about 5 or 10 minutes every day. He never talked to me of course. I’m digressing again. Anyway, then in 5th grade I’m pretty sure it changed to some other young man. And same in 6th, 7th, and 8th grade, though somewhere along the way I think we stopped writing their names on our notebooks. SO not cool to put your feelings out there in the open like that. Someone could steal your notebook or something and you’d be ruined. Much better to have a delegate bff ask him if he likes you. Thank goodness those days are over. So much pressure and waiting, and sometimes your trusty delegate would mess up the note or message. It’s just not worth it to put your love life in someone else’s hands like that.

These days, we still do these kinds of things though we are much more level-headed and less crazy about it. For the most part…I obviously cannot speak for every female on this planet and we all know there are some crazies out there who are just nuts and cannot conduct themselves in a rational manner (…and I just described every woman when she’s hormonal…whatever). But ANYWAY we all still imagine almost immediately what life could be like with almost every man we ever meet. Yes you so do. Friends included I think. Again, this is a generalization, but I do believe you’re lying to yourself if you haven’t at least once thought about what it would be like to be Mrs. My-best-friend’s-last-name-who-I’ve-never-been-attracted-to-not-even-while-drunk. Right? Of course right. And we reject these notions for any number of reasons, regardless of the attraction factor.

One of my dear friends from college comes to mind. In high school, this pretty girl was dating a young man with a HORRIBLE last name. I’m not sharing specifics because this is the interwebs and anyone can find anything. But let’s just say his last name rhymed with like 9 diseases and/or viruses. And honestly, who wants to be Mrs. Streptococcus, or Mrs. Mononucleosis. Obviously if we reject men based on last names, that is not only shallow and ridiculous but unfair. Ancestry is not something we choose. But this girl really had to think from day one, do I really love this guy? Because if not, there’s no reason for me to have this ridiculous last name. Perhaps it made her smarter and helped her not settle. Either way, it’s something she thought about and we all think about almost from day one, whether on purpose, subconsciously, or by accident. Just think about Kate Middleton. When she first met Prince William at university (as the Brits say), I can only imagine what went through her mind. I mean not only would she be Mrs. Windsor [I actually had to google this…apparently royals don’t really use surnames and there is a debate as to whether they actually even have them, but according to Wikipedia, “Windsor” is the name dictated by the Queen…so just go with it], she would be Kate Middleton Windsor (or whatever), Princess of Wales. Princess. Of anything. This is like every little girl’s dream to be a princess, and here she is actually becoming one. I mean come on. So cool.

Men just don’t think about these things, and what boring lives they must lead without these fanciful fantasies (the fantasies they have are not fanciful in my opinion…raunchy and inappropriate for mixed company perhaps but not fanciful). I know that I have gotten endless laughs from thinking about this particular topic related to men. Jokes about how beautiful/hideous children would be, or being Mrs. Uglynameitis, or being married to a most loved frenemy’s cute brother, or being the pregnant barefoot wife of a bff. Good times, ladies. Just don’t get crazy. He doesn’t want to hear about your marriage plans. Leave those up to him, or at least wait until after the first date for crying out loud.

Once again I have had inspiration come to me in the form of an awesomely long heart-to-heart convo with Miss Foxy. She is so wise, and together we make a brain. Together, we also discuss many-a-man and many-a-trifling situation, as I have mentioned many-a-time before. The most recent revelation we’ve had is that we hate dating, and we also love dating. Who’s with us? Yes! Everyone hates dating! Everyone loves dating! It sucks! It’s so fun! It’s so terrible!

First dates are probably the most awkward thing in the entire world, and I challenge each and every one of you to find me something more awkward. Each person trying to figure out if the other likes them, while simultaneously trying to figure out if they even like the other person. Then comes the end of the date. What to do? Make plans asap? Is this creepy and too fast? Make vague statements of future calls and text messages? What if you’re not ready to leave yet? Does the other person want this as well? What if they never want to see you again? How does one know?! Here’s the answer: One doesn’t know. You just have to figure it out and go with the flow. This is why it is so awkward and fun and terrible. Getting past this first date awkwardness is obviously easier in some cases more than others, but I think we’ve all had at least one date where you were all like, ohmygahd, this is awkward but he is kind of cute soooo whatever. Or something along those lines. Right? Right.

Well what about after that first date? Doesn’t make things easier after you pass that first landmark. Now you’ve been on a couple dates, you actually think you like this person, they actually like you, things are hunky-dory and progressing fine. You learn secrets about each other and gradually are opening the door to letting this person in and baring your soul. But LORD you’ve done this 80 million times before and that last rejection was pretty difficult. I know ya’ll think Miss Sassy is all up on doing the rejecting (it’s true, I am) but trust me, this girl has had plenty of rejections and gets just as bruised as the rest of you chickens. It’s a blow to the ego, and when you share things with another person all that does is open the door to being hurt. And no one likes being hurt.

So why do we do it? Who knows. Momma Sassy says it’s something to do with our Lord and being drawn together like Adam and Eve and being fruitful and multiplying. Sounds good. I guess that’s part of it. The other part is that men are just so yummy, we can’t help ourselves. Seriously. How many times have you been dumped / rejected by some sweet talking man, got your heart and possibly your fist bruised (LOL/JK), and swore to all your BFFs that you’d never lay eyes on another man? Be honest. A lot. And what would you guesstimate is the average time it takes you to fine another something delicious to take you out? About 3 seconds. Because this one is different. Or at least better looking. After a couple cute dates and fun times hanging out with him, you find yourself just waiting for the bottom to drop out. Because it usually does. They get bored or they find some hotter piece of ass. It’s inevitable, we think.

But why do we wait for the end? Why do we always expect the worst? Why do we always go back for more when so many of these little dalliances end in heartache, pain, lower self-esteem, and a couple extra pounds? Lately I find myself expecting dudes to just work me over. I assume it’s all a game, and so I put up my guard. I’m on the lookout for a phony and a guy who’s read too many books on the art of the pick-up, and usually I find exactly that, hiding beneath the smooth talking and ridiculous over-complimenting (I mean really, telling me I have beautiful eyes 5 times is not increasing your chances of getting anything except my annoyance level higher). It’s tiring. It tells me nothing about you except that you’re lame and insecure with who you actually are. So when I do actually find a real man with a real personality under those muscles, I am pleasantly surprised but still skeptical. I don’t know what to do with it when I actually find what I might be looking for. A real man. And I dislike this about myself. I am too young to be so jaded and always expecting to be disappointed. If I end up 40 and still single (yikes), then I will have earned it. But not now.

So this is what I promise myself, and what you should promise yourself, here and now. I promise to be smart and to protect myself from the scum bags who just want to…you know. Harsh but true. I also promise to have an open mind and let in the nice ones. Because the nice ones do exist, and they should be given a chance – as they are being open enough to give me a chance. And lastly I promise to take risks. It is harder and harder to share life with people the more we all get hurt. Who’d have thought. But we don’t want to be a bunch of old maids with 9 cats, do we? No. We want to have fun. And in order to do this we must take risks. I have to open myself up to the possibility that someone, somewhere, who is not a pick-up artist, will be willing to take a risk on me. And I must be ready to take a risk with him. So bring it on. I am Miss Sassy Pants, after all.

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Breaking news. This past weekend I actually had a life, AND I went out on a week night. I know! I’ll pause a moment to let that sink in. I really enjoyed myself, and I attribute it in part to the fact that I was hanging out with some Hokies, of both old and new acquaintance. Something about being a Hokie which bonds us together and makes new friends seem like old friends. But I already waxed poetic about that jank so let’s move on to the hilariousness.

It has been a long while since I got hit on. Totally kidding. I don’t like to brag, but in fact it has not been a while. It has been a hot sec. It’s all good though, it keeps me on my toes, and it gives me something to write about. I love watching it happen and anticipating how everything will go down. It’s like watching TV sometimes when the plot is all too predictable, and you find yourself in a situation in which you predicted all to accurately, which renders you bored and/or laughing at the predictability of it all. It’s comical really. Plus, seriously, guys will hit on anything when they’re drunk, and some will hit on anything at any time, so this really isn’t even a compliment to me. I’m just there, enjoying my Corona Light. And I’ve been told my short stature and poofy hair makes me more approachable. Whatever. The following is indiscretion at it’s best.

I’m hanging out with a group of people which I have met recently (I’m going to be intentionally vague to protect the sources…I know, such honorable journalistic ethics), and there’s this dude. There’s always a dude. Or two. He’s decently good looking, friendly, etc. He’s chatty. The first time we met was a while back at a previous gathering. He was friendly, cute, and chatty then as well. And also extremely drunk. Recognizing this, I was appropriately holding back. I don’t like getting into deep convos or becoming extremely involved with super drunk dudes. Because one of two things happens: they forget they talked to you / had an awesome connection / got your number OR they just stare at your chest all night while babbling about something they incoherently feel is an awesome pick up line, which gets old. SO. We had this conversation which included him asking me inappropriate questions (which I will not enumerate here or anywhere) and making equally inappropriate comments. He informed me he had a girlfriend when I asked, so I was appropriately appropriate, despite his inappropriateness.

Fast forward to this past weekend. He’s at the bar, sans girlfriend and we’re chatting again. He’s getting to the point where he’s almost as drunk as he was the last time I saw him. We start talking about that last interaction. He tells me, a bit contrite, that he has only vague memories of our last conversation but remembers enough to know he should apologize. Inappropriateness, while sometimes comical, is not always the best course of action. We then talk about his girlfriend. It comes out in conversation that he did not, in fact, actually have this girlfriend the last time we talked. Only he thought it would be an awesome way to “get me” if he told me he had one. I politely inform him that typically this is not the tastiest bait for girls. He disagrees with me and says he’s had success with that line in the past. I shrug because really it doesn’t matter. You said you have one, I’m me and I’m special I guess so to me that closes the door, even if she is not present. I guess you could say I respect myself. He’s a bit more shocked by this than I thought he should be, and we go on talking about his “chances” the last time we met. He says, “so I could have gotten you last time?” I am unsure what he means by that statement, so I clarify and say that he could have asked me out and I would have at least considered it. He wants clarification. Does “asking me out” mean hooking up? Negative, I say, they are not synonyms. I tell him that next time he’s interested in a girl, perhaps he shouldn’t claim to have a girlfriend who is waiting for him at home. He nods appreciatively like he’ll definitely keep that in mind. I attempt to move on to some other more friendly and single people we’re out with. This guy is annoying me now because he just wants his ego stroked.

Then we have an exchange that went something like this:
Him: Those jeans are soooooooo tight. [slurring slightly]
Me: [blink blink] Sorry.
Him: What color underwear are you wearing?
Me: [blink blink] [unamused raised eyebrow]
Him, trying to give me a cute face but failing: Awww come on. Just the color?
Me, glancing at my not-empty-enough beer, sifting quickly through all the available bitchy comments I could choose from: [blink blink]

Luckily (for him) at this moment a much cuter and more single friend comes over and makes a remark about how weird it is that west coast people use 10 cups for beer pong instead of 6. Mr. Drunk Undies is captivated by this and wanders over to bother the two very attractive females who are playing said game. I feel bad for them but happy for me that he left and I didn’t even have to comment. Much better and more appropriate and adult conversation ensues with cuter, singler, less ridiculously drunk guy. Victory.

So, question. Actually couple of questions and comments. Do many guys think it is a good idea to claim a girlfriend to up your chances with another girl? Does this work? Ladies, is this attractive to you? And dudes, what does knowing the color of my undies have to do with anything? When I see a tush I like, I simply use my imagination. It’s more creative that way and to my liking. Maybe just be creative, that way you don’t have to risk offending said lady by inquiring about her undergarments.

Regardless. The conclusion is this: boys are smelly and stupid, throw rocks at them. And I learned that sometimes time should just not be wasted on those who are wasted. Keep it classy, San Francisco.

We all remember the Cowardly Lion from Wizard of Oz, right? Adorable Cowardly Lion. Always pulling on his own tail, scared that someone was pulling his tail. He was a coward! He had no confidence! Fortunately for the Lion, the wizard gave him courage. Unfortunately for people who don’t live in the land of Oz and talking lions, we have to find our own courage and confidence.

There are two separate issues here: the first is we are all cowards when it comes to rejecting people, and the second is that we don’t have the confidence to accept a rejection and move on. Right? Then I think there is a third where the coward in us affects our confidence. Or something. Go with it.

As always, we will have an example. Example one. Miss Sassy goes on a date. Dude is ok, but not that great, and she decides to say no thank you to future planned or unplanned encounters. But how can she break the news? I think we all agree there are certain socially acceptable behaviors which typically should be adhered to at all times. Like telling someone, “you know, dinner was nice, but I think your kind of boring. Sorry.” I’d venture to guess that this type of statement is rare. Because people don’t want to be rude. We want people to like us and not think that we are huge jerks. So, while I may not want to go out with dude again, I don’t want him to think of me as a biotch. But I’m also insecure. What will he say? What if he doesn’t like me? What if he gets really mad?? What if it’s really awkward? I won’t know what to say! [Dramatic pause.] So I wait for him to call or text me and I do the usual. Not respond, not call back, say I’m busy, blah blah blah. We all know the signs by now.

Example two. Miss Sassy goes on a date (it’s all about me, obvs…plus these days I live vicariously through my own blog since I’m dating no one…so cool). She loves it. However, he’s not into her and never calls again. She is crushed, and her confidence level plummets to a new low. She cries daily, wondering what she did wrong, blah blah blah. Then she has an epiphany. Who cares about him! She’s Miss Sassy Pants! It’s his loss! She’ll find someone else! Eventually!

My dear friend and Mexpert (Men + Expert for those of you who forgot) has this to say:

If a girl doesn’t like me after the first date or two, I think, “their loss.” It is the only thing a confident guy/girl can say to themselves after a rejection. Guys/girls should go into every date as “I have the package,” and “let’s see if they are interested in my package.” If they are not, then it’s “their loss.”

Exactly. I kind of giggled when I read about the package. Some of us get stuck in 5th grade. But seriously, we are all the total package to someone. Perhaps your package is not right for me [giggle]. And perhaps my package is not right for you [giggle]. Mr. Mexpert also says if you’re a complainer throwing a massive pity party, it is an indicator of low confidence level. Stand up for yourself. Recognize that you are awesome, and stop wasting time on someone who doesn’t think you are the coolest thing ever.

The coward thing is hard to solve. The Wizard isn’t just going to hand us little boxes of courage. And even if he did, I’m not sure I’d use what’s in that box to tell someone to their face that I don’t like them. This isn’t the Bad Girls Club or some reality show on MTV. It’s socially unacceptable, it’s rude, momma raised us all better. Most of us. So perhaps we need to find the middle ground. Don’t come right out and say it, but don’t be quite so mysterious. And for those of us on the other side, for crying out loud, he’s not calling you, he just doesn’t like you! We must all embrace ourselves as we are. Let things happen as they will, and if people don’t want to be around you, move on and find others who do. High five.

And that concludes the series! Thanks to everyone for reading, quoting, commenting, hating, and blah blah blah. If anyone still disagrees with the theory, then I don’t know what to do. Go out into the dating ocean and put your new skills to work, and share your stories. Learn things. Don’t repeat mistakes. Don’t talk to the guy who wants to buy you a drink at last call. Have common sense. Stop dwelling on rejections. Be courageous enough to walk away from someone you don’t like. And be confident enough to pick yourself up and move forward.